


my heart there for you to take

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-27 00:09:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which louis is harry's buts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my heart there for you to take

Harry rolls a blunt with practiced ease. It’s simple – due to habit – and his hands don’t shake anymore, he doesn’t over bake it like he used to three years ago which forced him to either drop it and let it go or try for it again. Never ask someone else; he didn’t have anyone else to ask anyway.

It’s funny how no one bothers to check the bleachers although it’s common knowledge that a good amount of students have the place as their favourite for skipping classes to either smoke or drink – and Harry’s glad, not that any teacher still believes that he gives a fuck about being caught, but because it’s annoying to be lectured about the same thing over and over and over again. It’s of no use anymore, not with him.

He pockets the silver case, keeps the lighter in his hand and the blunt on his lips. He stares at the small object, turns it around and smiles at the huge L written with permanent marker, just like all the lighters he’s had before, since he was 15. And it’s silly because it’s just an L on a lighter and it’s nothing extraordinary – except he thinks about the L written on his left palm, something that’s been sitting there ever since his first morning class, and remembers that he was the one who wrote without paying much attention to what he was doing.

The click of the lighter is louder than it should be, but it’s a winter morning and no one’s crazy like him to skip classes when it’s that cold. Harry feels warmer outside than inside, with all the judging glares and the whispers and the cold shoulders – and he’s used to them, he doesn’t care anymore. It pains him a lot more the sad way Louis stares at him whenever Harry chooses to close himself instead of showing to other people what only Louis is allowed to see.

The sound of footsteps reaches Harry’s ears before the voice does. “Hey Curly.” And it’s awful how his insides still warm up whenever he listens to Louis talking – or humming his favourite song, singing _Teenage Dream_ on the shower, moaning Harry’s names like a mantra. It’s like a punch in his guts, a shock of reality forcing him to admit how gone he is for the other boy.

“Came to lecture me for smoking instead of going to class?” Harry asks and Louis snorts, arms wrapped around himself like a shield protecting him from the cold. “To tell me I have to be a proper student?”

He shrugs, taking the blunt from Harry’s mouth and putting it on his own lips. Harry automatically reaches to lighten it and Louis murmurs _thanks_ before taking a drag. “Dunno. I don’t think it would make much of a difference in case I did.” And he blows the smoke in circles, passing the joint back to Harry who stares at him disapprovingly, aware of how Louis likes to put on a show by doing things Harry’s taught him but so much better.

“Maybe not.” He whispers as Louis takes a step closer, wrapping his arms around Harry’s torso underneath his jacket and Harry notices he’s shivering – immediately his arms go around Louis’ shoulder, proving him the warmth he can feel irradiating from his body. “Maybe I would be a good boy and go back to class.” To that Louis smirks, nuzzling on Harry’s neck.

“The thing is, love,” Harry’s stomach jumps at that. “You’re not a good boy.” Louis pinches his nipple – one of the functional ones – _hard_ and Harry yelps, almost drops the blunt hanging loosely between his fingers.

“Not the best time for dirty talking.” Harry utters, pressing a palm to his hurt nipple and massaging it, grimacing in pain.

Louis beams – beams, even – and takes a step back, adjusting his glasses. “Some people actually attend their classes.” Harry rolls his eyes, bringing the joint to his lips. “How many classes have you skipped today?”

And Harry smiles while blowing the smoke – Louis is terrible at pretending he doesn’t care and Harry’s slowly realized that he actually cares more about the curly haired boy’s academic life than his own. Maybe that’s because he’s the first one bothering to care about Harry at all.

“Only two.” English and Biology – he wasn’t high enough to deal with the first one, not patient enough to deal with the second.

(and if it happens that Louis is not in any of them, it’s only coincidence.)

“You’ve had three classes today, Harold.” He would sound a lot more annoyed if he wasn’t smiling.

Then they are silent, Louis watching Harry’s lips as he smoke, Harry watching Louis’ blue eyes – eyes he’s spent to many moments of his days thinking about, eyes that hold a lot more pain and wisdom that Louis ever allow anyone to know. Anyone but Harry – and he realizes that Harry is Louis’ _buts_ as much as he’s his _buts,_ have been for the past two years and will possibly be for the rest of his life. Even if other people come, even if they try to be as special as Louis is, none of them will succeed because none of them are Louis.

“I really should go.” Lou whispers, head falling down so he’s staring at his shoes, shy all of sudden. “I have rehearsals and I strongly believe being killed two weeks before the play wouldn’t be a nice thing.”

And Harry nods, looking away.

(suppresses the feeling of telling Louis that he knows he has rehearsals now and football practice in a couple of hours, then piano and then Math tutoring.)

“You coming, right?”  He nods again, wants to tell him that he wouldn’t miss it for the world and that Louis should already be aware of this, but then his boyfriend is smiling and Harry drinks on the crinkles by his eyes. “Good, because I would dump you for Liam in case you didn’t.”

Harry laughs and Louis turns around, walks away. Harry watches as his figure disappears, keep watching the same point until his blunt burns out and there are no more excuses for him to stay out. He pulls the case from his pocket and starts to roll another blunt.

-

Harry’s parents fight a lot. No, they just don’t fight, they yell and break things and say mean things to each other with the intention on pressing wherever hurts the most. But for some reason, none of them back off, try to find something else – somewhere else, someone else – that might not be as difficult or hurtful. They just stay and fight and break things and stop Harry from knowing what an actual stable family is.

The only thing they never disagreed with was when they decided that moving out from Holmes Chapel to Doncaster was a good idea.

(and it wasn’t like Harry could’ve disagreed with that, back then. No, because he wasn’t as confident, he cared a lot more than he does and for him it would just be changing from being ignored to being nothing.)

First day of school is… normal, if being stared at by every single one of the students in the school just because Harry spends the entire day looking down at his feet and doodling on his notebook instead of trying to make friends or even paying attention to the classes can be considered normal. For Harry it can, for Harry it’s just one more time he tries to disappear on the wall and ends up being the focus of the attention for _not_ wanting to be. Because he doesn’t need it – never did, never will – he’s used to not being noted and to being ignored and having his necessities being let down because that’s what his parents have been doing ever since he was born without them actually wanting it to happen.

Being born by surprise is something; being born _unwanted_ is a complete different feeling. Harry tries not to blame his parents for fucking up with their lives to the point where everything became a huge snowball. They were teenagers, they were in love and his mum got pregnant. It was stupid; they decided to keep him, got married and dropped out of school. They fell out of love, they stayed, they didn’t go away and they raised him – poorly, but they did, and even if Harry’s angry because of the lack of interest towards him, he’s grateful they were considerate enough not to drop him in a trash bin or in foster care.

(he doesn’t know he should be actually thankful for his grandparents and how they didn’t let his parents do any of those.)

He goes home every day to the shouts from upstairs. The reasons are always the same – money, money, money, Harry, job, drink, money, money, _money_ – and he’s used by now to bury his face between his pillows and muffle the sounds so it won’t ache half as much. He’s used to falling asleep there; ears covered, eyes shut tight, breathing slowly, a heavy weight on his back that simply won’t go away.

That sort of changes when he meets Louis.

-

“How many classes have you skipped today, Haz?” It’s another day and they are sitting at the cafeteria. It’s too loud, everybody is there – and by everybody, _everybody,_ from all years, gathered in that way too small room with not enough space for breathing.

And he’s there, though, because Louis asked him to be, like he’s been asking for the past three years. He’s there, sitting between Louis and Zayn – because Zayn is calm, easier to deal with than Louis’ other friends like Niall and Aiden, and he’s not as observant as Liam, doesn’t try to make Harry feel included because he simply knows Harry doesn’t want to – watching the students talking, their voices louder than a trunk’s horn. He feels uncomfortable; his hands twitch for a blunt. Instead he brings them to his head, adjusts his hair inside the snapback so it won’t fall on his face and cover his eyes – Harry might not enjoy hearing, but he’s always been quite fond of watching.

“We’ve had the same classes today, Lou.” He whispers, the corners of his mouth curling up in a smile with the way Louis is staring at him. “So none.”

The boys make puking noises, the girls make a sound similar to _awn_ as if they weren’t used to Louis and Harry acting as if they were nail and flesh. It’s comforting that they know and don’t care; that they are aware of how much Louis loves Harry and, regardless of being able to understand how the two of them work or not, act as if it’s no big deal. Harry knows they were a bit apprehensive at first, when Louis crossed that line that everyone had drawn around Harry and had introduced himself – but that was just such a Louis thing to do, they weren’t surprised with his attitude for much longer. And if he said that boy with the snapbacks, hoodies and too much blunts was worth keeping, they would trust him.

“So adorable, Harold.” Louis pinches his cheek and looks away so his stupid grin won’t be too obvious, more than it already is. “Perrie, darling, you said something about a party this weekend, yeah?”

The blonde girl – she’s Zayn’s girlfriend, that’s what Harry knows, and she’s on his English class, the one he tries to skip as much as possible because the teacher is insufferable – nods, releases her hand from Zayn’s grasp and runs it through her hair, ignoring the way she manages to mess up the braid the girl with the purple hair sitting in front of her had made.

Harry likes Perrie; she has this incredible necessity, just like Louis, of filling the silence with random conversation. And she’s funny; she’s always laughing and always making sure other people are laughing as well. He knows for a fact that she had been there for Louis when the two of them were younger and his father had died.

“Indeed.” Her accent is strong, stronger than Harry remembers, or maybe that’s because he hasn’t noticed it before. “My mate, Ed, is throwing a party at his flat now that he’s successfully managed to get out of his parents’ house. Said I could bring anyone I want.”

They are not a small group – and since when Harry is part of _they_ is kind of a mystery for him – and Harry wonders if Ed, whoever that was, would actually mind the amount of people that were possibly be going the minute Louis stood up and gave his verdict.

(it’s funny and unbelievable for him how he’s dating someone who’s basically a leader; someone who people want to follow. He’s always been so lonely, he was never someone who followed or was followed.)

“There will be alcohol, right?” Niall is the one to speak; and he’s loud, louder than anyone in the room. Maybe because he’s Irish maybe because he doesn’t give a fuck whether people care about him being _expansive,_ and Harry likes Niall, he really does, but the boy is not someone he would willingly be joining in any sort of situation. Especially when he’s drunk.

“Niall, you have to stop thinking with your Irish brain and start thinking with the functional one.” Louis jokes, to everyone’s entertainment. “That if you have it.” And he blows Niall a kiss, who’s laughing much like everyone else.

Perrie’s laugh is the loudest and Zayn looks at her with fondness in his eyes – fondness you probably wouldn’t believe a guy wearing leather jackets and tattoos in his arms can have, but Harry’s used to people having many different layers, and Zayn might actually be the most layered one in the table. Besides Louis.

“Yes, there will be alcohol.” She replies, tucking her head on Zayn’s shoulder. “What do you think, Tommo?”

Louis pretends to be considering the possibility for a moment but, as a good ruler – his words – he has to give his people what they want every once in a while so he nods, and soon each person in the table is involved in his own small groups, discussing plans for this weekend – not only the party – and the next, and the next, and every single one of the weekends until the end of the term. Possibly the ones during the summer vacation as well.

“Hey.” Louis tugs on his sleeve and Harry turns to look at him. “You coming, right?” And it’s the second time in a two days span that Louis’ asked him this and Harry can’t bring himself to say no, just like the first time.

They lace their fingers where Harry’s hand is laying on top of the table.

-

At first it hadn’t been his intention to spurt out of the classroom in the middle of the lecture. He hasn’t fallen into the habit of skipping classes; he’s still a good student, thinks that maybe that way his parents will notice him. Harry hasn’t accomplished much so far, they care more about their money and their jobs and their failed lives than they care about how Harry’s is slowly failing as well. Every time he goes home proud of something he’s done, thinking that maybe this time they will notice, they will care.

And instead his mum puts on a fake smile and walks out of the door, shouts something about food in the fridge, your father’s arriving in a bit, call him if you need anything else. And when his father arrives he’s so tired and stressed out he eats, grunts when Harry tells him there’s something he wants to show him and _kindly_ ask his son to fuck off so he can watch TV.

(in any other occasion he would show his grade to his grandmother. Her being in Holmes Chapel sort of makes things hard.)

So Harry shuts himself inside his bedroom and listens to bands he can hardly pronounce the names, and pretends there’s a world where everything actually works out, where things are easy and he’s wanted and loved and his fingers doesn’t crave for the fags he keeps inside his drawer.

That world is too palpable sometimes, almost as he could actually reach it and keep it. Harry drones out and escapes there in the most random moments. Whenever he doesn’t want to deal with his reality he loosens the grip around it and let it go, jumps into his imaginary world with the imaginary love and imaginary happiness. He can almost feel it, hold it around his fingers and keep it closer to his heart, where it aches the most. But reality always snaps him out of it whenever he’s close from finding out what he’s supposed to do and it’s overwhelming, this rush of his actual feelings eating the ones he wanted to feel instead.

He’s in the middle of the class when it becomes too much and he’s head spins, his heart feels heavier and his mind is out of focus. Every single thing that comes out of the teacher’s mouth is not processed by his brain, which causes him to try to go back there, an effort that becomes useless when someone tells him that he looks pale. Harry doesn’t know who that boy is and he doesn’t want to. Instead he jumps out of the chair and runs towards the door, listens to the teacher calling his name but shuts it down, leaves it at the corner of his mind while his thoughts are still running way too fast for him to get a grasp on them.

-

The music is louder than the people in the cafeteria and it’s annoying – Harry dislikes loud music; he hates loud _and shitty_ music. He doesn’t really want to be there but Louis does and, although everybody thinks Louis is the one to do everything for Harry – he is -, there’s nothing in the world Harry wouldn’t do for him. It’s scary, even, the thought of fully belonging to someone to the point of not having limits when it comes to that person.

Harry’s never loved anyone as much as he loves Louis.

(he wasn’t given enough reasons to.)

He loves his parents but for obligation – he was taught by his grandmother that, no matter how hard he was mistreated, he should love his parents because of who they were to him. It was in the Bible as well;  _love your enemies, bless those that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for those who mistreat you and persecute you._

Harry hasn’t gone to church in three years, doesn’t really have anyone to take him ever since they moved from Holmes Chapel, but he chooses to believe in those words, at least when it comes to his parents. He loves his grandmother but she’s long gone, long buried underneath layers and layers of mud and worms and oblivion, so Harry chooses not to think about it, not to compare it, chooses to believe that Louis is the first and only person he’s loved in his entire life.

At least one way that is true.

So he doesn’t find reasons to leave, not yet, not until Louis arrives and gets drunk enough so that Harry will actually have an excuse to bid goodbye to that awful party with its trashy music, because someone needs to get Louis’ drunk ass home and that’s usually Harry, ever since the two of them got together.

Harry waits for him at the kitchen, texts him to hurry up before he decides to blow Zayn and receives a _if u get him n perrie to agree for a 4some go for it_ which he promptly ignores, reaches for the cup filled with something that is supposedly coke and rum, and brings it to his lips. Rum, definitely. Coke, he’s not quite sure, but it doesn’t really matter. Harry is not much of a drinker, doesn’t see in the alcohol what he sees in the weed and this thought is enough for his fingers to itch, but he’s waiting for Louis so he can’t go anywhere.

Ginger haired Ed appears in the kitchen then, Niall with an arm around his shoulder, both of them singing loudly with whatever Nicki Minaj song is playing. They are drunk – Niall is always drunk when Harry sees him out of the school, so there’s nothing new here – and they seem genuinely happy, as if getting drunk is enough of a reason for them to forget about everything that make them feel miserable and embrace this state of constant happiness.

Harry’s not a happy person. He can get happy – has, more than once, with Louis by his side -, but he’s not happy and he doesn’t really crave to be it, just enough for all his problems to go away whenever he chooses to turn the happiness on, but he can’t. He can’t and maybe that’s because he was kept from being happy for so long that he doesn’t really know how to anymore.

Niall throws his free arm around Harry’s shoulder and his alcohol breath hits Harry’s face. He tries to detangle himself from Niall’s grip but for someone so small he’s unbelievably strong. He and Ed keep singing that poorly written rap and the Irish boy yells at him to sing with them, but it’s too involved in the song to actually hear it when Harry says he doesn’t know the lyrics. He wants to run away at the same time he doesn’t; want to escape from this social interaction and from being forced to keep a smile plastered on his face but he can’t and the smile feels too real for him to be able to put it down.

He almost doesn’t react when Louis appears on the door, a huge smile on his lips, and an amused look on his face, he looks satisfied that Harry hasn’t freaked out and pulled away until now. And Harry smile grows bigger when they eyes lock, and everything he wants is for Louis to be the one forcing him to sing a shitty song while being drunk beyond compare. He wants Louis to kiss him like he does whenever he wants Harry to feel an ache different from the one that actually hurts; wants to bury himself in Louis’ warmth and comfort, to feel loved like no one else has ever made him feel.

So Harry doesn’t have to plead when he raises an eyebrow. Louis is walking towards them in the next moment, laughing at Niall’s confused face when he frees Harry from Niall’s grip. “The boyfriend has preference, sorry.” And Niall smiles, Ed smiles and Harry almost cries because this is too much.

-

Harry doesn’t know how he ends sitting on the floor of the bathroom but he knows he’s there and he’s alone and he’s never felt so cold in his entire life. His lunch has already gone down the flush and he feels dizzy; worn out and tired, so tired. Exhausted even, like he needs a place to rest his head and just stay there. No one’s gone after him yet, they are probably waiting for the class to be over to go after the curly haired boy that went out without teacher’s permission and didn’t look back. The situation would be funny to explain (“ah, I was just feeling shitty for realizing that the world I live in actually do suck”) and Harry was ok with being there on the cold floor, his arms around the toilet and his head pillowed by the lid.

“Hello?” Harry listens to someone calling and shit, he doesn’t want to go yet, doesn’t want to be lectured and having his parents called to school and reported about his terrible behaviour because they might not react to his good deeds but they will definitely react if he does something bad.

“I know you’re here, I can hear your breathing.” It’s not a teacher or an adult, it’s just another student and Harry wonders from where he recognizes that voice. “Look, I just brought your stuff and came to check if you’re ok, so if you could just let me know if you’re alive, that would be nice.”

Against his best judgement Harry kicks open the door of his stall, only to curl back into a ball just like he was moments ago. The boy appears in front of him and he has Harry’s bag on his shoulder. Harry’s seen that boy before – they have, at least, five classes together, but he’s too loud and too popular so Harry was actually surprised he had even bothered to come after him. His hand shakes when he stretches one of his arms towards the boy, silently asking for his bag. Instead of giving it to him, the other kneels in front of Harry and crawls towards him, puts his hand on his forehead and checks to see if he has a fever.

It’s so sudden Harry doesn’t have time to pull away; it’s so gentle Harry doesn’t know if he wants to. The boy is close, closer than people usually get to him, and Harry watches as he concentrates on checking his temperature and his blown up pupils. He has blue eyes – blue like the ocean, not like pools; Harry’s seen a blonde boy whose eyes are blue like pools and this boy’s eyes are some shades darker. Prettier as well, Harry’s never been a fan of light blue anyway –, and they hold a sparkle of mischief that seem permanent, hidden behind the lenses of his glasses. His cheekbones are killing, his lips pressed in a thin line and Harry wants to kiss them, run his tongue on them just to know how he tastes like.

“Are you feeling sick?” He questions, and his breath is hot against Harry’s face.

Harry just shakes his head, won’t dare to open his mouth, knowing the taste of vomit is still strong and not wanting the other boy to know it.

“Are you sure?” He’s fond, caring, acting as if it actually bothers him whether Harry feels good or not and this is too much for him.

He pushes the boy’s hands away, brings his legs closer to his chest and hugs them, tugs his chin on top of his knees. “Why do you care?” And the boy is surprised for a moment, but the look in his face sweeps away on the next when he smiles.

“Because someone has to, right?” Harry is not waiting for this answer so he doesn’t know what to say or how to react; he’s glad when the boy offers his hand for Harry to shake. “I’m Louis and I’m pretty sure we have at least five classes together, so it’s sort of weird that I haven’t introduced myself yet.”

Harry reaches for Louis’ hand and shakes it quickly before retracting, bringing his hand back to himself. He now knows where he recognizes that voice from – Louis was the boy asking him if he was ok before he panicked and ran away. It’s still a mystery for Harry why Louis is so keen on showing him that he cares; he’s used to not having anyone caring so it’s different, too different for his likes, but he’s too polite to tell the boy to fuck off.

(one year later he forgets politeness can be used with teenagers, for a very different reason.)

“So, what’s your name?” Louis asks, holds a patience that fifteen years old don’t usually have.

“Harry.” He replies, doesn’t stop before doing so, doesn’t see why because Louis transmits this aura of security. And Harry feels safe for the first time since his grandmother died; he feels safe because of someone he’s literally just met and it should be weird – it is – but Harry doesn’t really think about it.

Louis beams, stands up and offers his hand to Harry again, this time to pull the other boy up to his feet.

“Harry, I think you gonna need to brush your teeth, mate.” Harry feels his cheeks burn and they don’t do that much often so he knows he’s probably looking like a tomato. “Don’t be ashamed, I have four sisters. I know how your breath smells after you puke.”

The laugh comes out of his mouth before he can stop it and then Harry’s covering it, fearing of being too loud. He can’t help it; the way Louis is so honest about everything he says is quite endearing and funny and Harry starts to feel lighter than he’s felt in months.

-

He’s drunk and he doesn’t care. He’s drunk for the first time in years and all he can think about is how Louis is drunker than him and still walks with more steady feet. Maybe it’s the practice – Louis can’t roll blunts as well as Harry can, maybe Louis can deal with drunkenness a lot better than Harry can. They are laughing between kisses, and Harry presses Louis against the wall of the corridor to move his mouth to Louis’ neck. He leaves marks there, lovebites to match the ones that already colour Louis’ tan skin. Harry likes that – how easily he can stamp Louis as _his_ , a strange feeling of relief coming from the realization of possession. Harry’s always told Louis that he was his to do as he pleases, but only now he starts to realize that Louis is just as given as he is.

His back hits the opposite wall when Louis fights for dominance – and Harry gives it to him, has been giving ever since they were fifteen and the same height. Louis is better with his mouth and his tongue than Harry is, but only because Louis’ not as taken aback. He pushes Harry’s limits; he abuses of lips, tongue, teeth, pulls on the right points, just _grazes_ where it’s most sensitive.

They find a door, somehow, and the bedroom is empty. They can still hear the deafening sound from the party, the shitty music that reverberates through the walls. But they are too busy unable to keep their hands off each other, busy leaving marks on each other’s necks and busy pressing fingerprints against each other’s hips. They are laughing, high on their momentarily happiness, high on their love that runs through their veins, mixed with the alcohol. And everything is intoxicating and Harry’s never felt so alive in his entire life.

The back of his knees hit the bed and he’s forced down, Louis’ hands on his shoulder and on his jaw, their mouths stuck in repeat as they kiss fiercely. He digs his fingernails on the exposed skin of Louis’ back. He pulls his t-shirt off, throws it to the side without watching; too busy kissing his way down Harry’s neck. The pile of clothes grow bigger at every discarded piece and Harry moans at the skin to skin contact; realizes he’s craved for it a lot more than he thought he could, not at all being someone who’s needy of contact, always choosing to put his personal space first then any social obligations of touching, hugging or shaking hands.

Louis’ changed him quite a lot – he’s not stupid, he knows that. He knows without Louis he might have not been able to finish the freshman year. He knows without Louis he wouldn’t have managed to get to his senior year or junior or even sophomore. Louis was like salvation when all his hopes had been brought down, the one who cared when no one else did, the one who loved when no one else wanted to.

He bites the inside of Harry’s thigh to drawn his attention back to him and then smiles, continues smiling as he licks the head of Harry’s cock, lips still curled up when he engulfs Harry’s length with his mouth. And he’s good, he’s so good, and Harry’s in love so even if Louis wasn’t that good he still would think he is. He releases the grip on the sheets just so he can reach for the bedside table – Ed’s a dude, if he hasn’t got any lube they are fucked and not in a good way. Harry props himself up on his elbow, searches inside the drawer and bites hard on his lower lip when Louis sucks harder looking for Harry’s attention. His hand grabs the small tube and he tosses it on the bed next to Louis.

“Need you to fuck me.” Harry pleads and throws his head back as Louis hollows his cheeks and opens his throat so he can take Harry deeper. “Come on, Lou.”

Louis pulls away, leaves a small kiss on the head of Harry’s cock and sits on his heels, watching him intensely as he pops open the tube. He coats his fingers, never once stops watching Harry, their eyes locked in an intense glare. “Spread your legs a bit.” Louis whispers as he leans in to kiss Harry, his finger applying a soft pressure against Harry’s rim.

Harry does as told and Louis pushes in. One finger is not enough because Harry is still thoroughly fucked from two nights ago and he’s soon begging Louis for more. He complies, adds a second finger and crooks them inside, tries to find Harry’s sweet spot as he captures Harry’s lower lip between his own. Harry moans against Louis’ lips, his hands pulling on his boyfriend’s hair. He’s feeling too much and everywhere but it’s still not enough; he’s drunk and he’s happy and he wants – needs – his moment to be entirely perfect, even if Louis has this tendency of being careful.

“Louis, come on, just do it.” He pleads, stares into Louis’ eyes and sees the way his pupils are blown up in lust. He needs it, craves for Louis to be inside him and finish what he’s started so Harry can pretend for a little longer that there is no sadness waiting for him outside this room.

“I don’t have a condom.”  Louis whispers, cries against Harry’s shoulder.

“Just fucking do it.” Harry’s going to cry if he doesn’t get what he wants – maybe drunkenness is not his best state and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything at all anymore. “ _Please.”_

It’s a low blow because he knows how Louis can’t resist it, needs to do whatever Harry asks him when he uses that tone and that face. He pulls his fingers out, reaches for the lube and slicks his dick with it. Harry pouts when he’s impatient and Louis smiles, kisses the place where one of Harry’s dimples usually is just to make it appear there. He slides in easily, hooks his elbows on the back of Harry’s knees and holds them up so he can have more access.

It’s simple, they know what to do, and they are used to it. Louis knows Harry’s body better than anyone else does; Harry’s traced his tongue on places of Louis’ body no one’s seen before. They know where to push, when to do it, what hurts and what doesn’t. What is fucking great and what can be completely ignored. Louis knows Harry likes to grab his hair when he’s being fucked and, even though he’s spent hours trying to make it look good, he lets him mess it up – he can fix it later anyway. Harry knows Louis likes to fuck him and keep his eyes in Harry’s through it all so he forces himself not to close his eyes, even when the pleasure is too big to keep them open.

They breathe into each other’s mouth; don’t have enough strength or self-control to break the small gap so they can kiss. They just stay there; Louis thrusting, Harry pushing back, eyes fixed on each other’s. Breathing, breathing, Harry needs to keep breathing and to never forget how important it is. But Louis makes it difficult, even when he’s not buried inside of him. He makes it difficult because he’s Louis and he’s caring, he loves, he’s there when Harry thinks he wants to be alone when in fact he just needs someone telling him to calm down and _shh everything is going to be ok._ He knows how Harry pours his cereal and he knows how Harry takes his tea; he knows which classes Harry likes to skip and which he doesn’t. He sits next to Harry in all the classes they have together and keeps their hands linked, ignores how pretty much the entire school still tries to understand how they ended up together. They are and that’s everything that matters to Louis and, for that, Harry’s grateful.

When he cums he’s actually there, not drifting back to that reality where he’s happier and things are easier because in that reality he wouldn’t have met Louis. In that reality he wouldn’t have ran away from class that day three years ago; he wouldn’t have moved to Doncaster because his grandmother wouldn’t be dead.

Harry reckons he prefers his own life.

-

The fighting is louder than usual and Harry’s trying to study for his finals but it’s impossible when everything he can think about is how his mother has no aim at all. She’s probably broken five ceramic vases while trying to throw them at Harry’s dad who’s probably not even flinched. His head aches, his hands are starting to shake again and he’s trying his best not to panic like he had done six months before – he doesn’t need another attack and he doesn’t need the food he’s eaten to fill his toilet once again.

So he tries for the pillows but they are not good enough, his mum is inspired. For whatever reason she’s even louder than usual and Harry realizes it’s been exactly one year since his grandmother died. The realization is sudden and comes creeping in without permission. The pain comes next and he hopes it will die soon enough so he will go straight to the numbness which he can deal by smoking or listening to loud music. The numbness is easy for him to ignore because he lives in it almost every single day. The pain is harder because it stings and it’s unfamiliar and his eyes are burning in tears quicker than he thought they would.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing until he finishes dialling Louis’ number – which he knows by heart – on his mobile phone. He clutches to it with all his strength, ignores his father screams of how fucking useless Harry’s mother is and how he should’ve gotten a nerd girl pregnant instead of a stupid cheerleader. Louis answers after the third ring. “Haz?” He’s found a nickname for Harry two weeks after their _friendship_ had started back in that bathroom stall. “Haz? Are you ok?”

The concern is there and it’s so genuine Harry can’t help but letting a sob escape from his mouth. Louis hears it and reacts before Harry can take it back. “What’s wrong? What happened? Did your parents do something to you?” And he hasn’t realized before how much Louis knows about him, even though he’s never let anyone in before. He does and he knows and Harry can’t push him away. Not anymore.

“Do you want me to go there?” Louis asks when Harry doesn’t say anything and Harry can listen to him shuffling around his room, probably putting on a pair of jeans and searching for his keys. “Harry, you need to tell me what to do. What should I do now?”

“Come get me.” He doesn’t have to ask twice – Louis hangs up after murmuring a _be there in five._

Harry’s sitting on the stairs when he hears a door closing outside then three soft knocks on his door. He walks towards it and opens, walks out before his parents can realize anything extraordinary is happening downstairs. Louis just stares at him with raised eyebrows and questions in his eyes. Questions that Harry doesn’t answer, not yet.

“Where do you want to go?” It’s the only one that the other boy says out loud, and Harry brings his hands to his eyes, rubs the sadness out of them before replying.

“Holmes Chapel.” And Louis doesn’t flinch, only offers Harry a hand.

He takes it.

-

All the actors are good but Louis is better. Maybe Harry is biased – he is – but he can’t help but focus on Louis and Louis only. He’s expressive, loud, and enthusiastic and manages to crack laughs from the audience better than anyone else on the stage – and that’s probably why he has the leading role. Harry knows the lines by heart, has helped him practice for the play more times than not, but still he can’t help but feel surprised at each and every new thing Louis says, and he’s captivating, talented. Harry’s never seen anyone as talented as Louis, at least not when it came to acting.

(and again, he’s biased.)

The final act starts and Harry found himself leaning forward on his seat to capture every moment, to watch Louis’ face reflected by the lights. He knows Zayn is smiling down at him from where he’s sitting next to Harry but he also knows that there is not judgement there – Zayn is just happy, he’s probably the only one who’s been happy with LouisandHarry ever since it started, but that’s because Zayn sees the best in people without being naïve and he’s probably always known that the two of them would end up exactly where they are now.

When it finishes and the curtain falls, Harry is the first up and applauding. Everybody is loud – everybody is proud – but no one’s as loud or proud as Harry, who has a bouquet underneath his armpit as he claps and cheers and whistles. The curtain is up again and the cast is there, never once does Harry stops clapping. And when is Louis’ turn, Harry claps even stronger, cheers even louder and whistles to the point of having Niall pinch his side for making him deaf.

Harry goes backstage – and technically he shouldn’t but he goes either way, no one’s going to say no to a 6’1” boy with a snapback and a tattooed friend – and Louis is changing from his outfit to his normal clothes faster than anyone else. Harry looks at him fondly, standing on the door frame, and smiles as one of Louis’ friends points to him. The older boy is a like a blur, running towards Harry and basically jumping on him, throwing his arms around Harry’s neck and kissing him straight ahead. Harry laughs into the kiss, tries to keep Louis from destroying the bouquet and pulls back, just slightly to drop a kiss on Louis’ nose.

“You were brilliant.” He whispers and Louis’ eyes are shining – Louis can be the best person to give advices about self-confidence but his own is pretty shaken. He’s never thought he was pretty enough until the day Harry told him that and Harry standing there looking at him as if holding all the love he has for the other boy in his eyes is enough for him to believe on what Harry’s told him.

“Thank you.” He’s not blushing because Louis never blushes but he’s happy and giddy and Harry is losing his balance. He feels drunk once again; but this time the reasons are different, the feeling is better and he wishes he could feel like that every day.

“No problem.”

-

Harry hates this place. He hates it more than he hates his own house, but would still rather be here than there. And Louis’ presence is comforting, keeps him grounded and reminds him that, regardless of how big the pain is while he walks towards his grandmother’s grave, there’s a world out there that might be more painful but that at least might guarantee him some moments of happiness.

He kneels in front of the tumble stone, sits back on his heels. Louis sits next to him and Harry doesn’t bother to push him away – if the past six months were any indication as to how Louis can be when he’s fond of someone, Harry doubts he could ever keep him distant. He doesn’t know what to say or do – doesn’t know whether to start telling his grandmother about everything that’s happened or if he should just stay silent until the pain is smaller or the numbness invades him.

“She cared about me.” Harry whispers instead, looks down at his hand and ignores how he can feel Louis’s eyes burning on the side of his face. “She actually did care about me, like my grandfather did before he died. I would go to her house every day before going to mine and she would told me that if anything happened the first thing I should do was run to her.”

Harry’s not crying and he won’t, can’t. Not that he minds Louis watching but because he’s done that too many times already to the point where his tears are starting to feel pointless and meaningless. So he doesn’t cry, he just grips tightly to the fabric of his trousers and tilts his head to the side a bit just to look back at Louis. “She loved me and when she died I lost the only person who actually did love me and it was awful.” He bites on his lower lip. “Sometimes I wish my parents had given me away when I was born so I could maybe have the possibility of being raised by people who actually care.

The look in Louis’ eyes is not pity and that’s a start. He doesn’t pity Harry neither does he look down at him and thinks he’s a sad kid who needs fixing. Louis sees him as someone who didn’t have much love in life despite of being someone who deserved it. Louis didn’t tell Harry to man up when he first talked about his parents; he just told him not to think about who didn’t care but to think about those who were open to do it, those who would always be available to be let in. He told him not to close up so much and that some people were still worthy of his trust, no matter how badly he’s been treated before, there’s always still hope that there will be those who objectives are going to involve making him happy.

Harry didn’t believe him then and he doesn’t believe him now either but he lets himself be pulled to Louis’ chest and he buries his face on the crook of Louis’ neck, his fingers grasping the collar of his t-shirt. He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t sob, and he doesn’t let anything out. He just breathes, taking in the smell of Louis and letting it fill his nostrils; he lets it be comforting, tries to force his brain to associate this smell to the feeling of safety so he can, in the future, rely on it when he needs to stop shaking.

“When my dad died I didn’t feel anything.” Louis says, running his fingers through Harry’s curls and massaging his scalp. “I couldn’t. It was as if I was being prevented from feeling because otherwise I would feel too much, you know?

(and Harry does know because that’s how he feels all the time.)

“I grew used to not having him around after some time and I sort of became the man of the family.” And the way he says that shows how proud of himself Louis actually is, for assuming a position where he would take care of not only his sisters but his mother as well while still being so young. “I know he’s not there anymore and that he’s not coming back and I miss him but my world doesn’t stop turning because of that. And if you keep blaming yourself for your grandmother’s death, the hole where you’re stuck at, which is already quite deep, will get even more profound until the point where you will be unable of coming out.”

Harry tightens the grip on Louis’ t-shirt and shuts his eyes closed, forces himself to breathe and ignore the way Louis’ words are more like knives. “Don’t close yourself like that, Harry.” Louis’ voice is quieter than a whisper, closer to Harry’s ears than it was before. “Don’t stop people from coming into your life.”

And it’s ironic coming from the only person who’s managed to do it so far.

-

They are all dressed in yellow robes with black graduation caps on their heads. The director is giving some stupid speech no one’s paying attention to – literally no one. Harry’s looking a few chairs behind him where Louis is sitting in silence. A few chairs to his right Liam’s reading his speech over and over again – second in class, he also gets a speech – and a few lines ahead of him Harry knows Zayn is running through his own speech – fucking valedictorian. Niall is there as well, so is Perrie, Jade, Aiden and all Louis’ friends that ended up becoming Harry’s friends wanted him or not. They are all nervous, looking forward to the big next step; to uni and parties and a career and a job and a husband or a wife and kids, family, grandkids – you can actually see their thoughts running through their minds, plans that seem so different at the same time that they are so similar.

Harry’s holding with dear life onto his bracelet and he’s trying – and failing – not to turn around and look at Louis all the time. He can’t help it; he’s there and he’s not far and he’s looking back at him with a smile on his lips and his eyes shining and Harry’s been in love with him for almost four years and everything feels so light and unknown and still Harry doesn’t really feel scared.

The speeches go – from the fifth best to the valedictorian and Zayn definitely closes it with the best speech every given by a student in that school if all the girls crying are any indication of that. Every single one of them go ahead to get their diplomas and are applauded by someone in the sits reserved for the families. When Harry’s turn comes he doesn’t expect applauds from there – he doesn’t get them – but Louis is standing on his feet and cheering for him together with all their friends. But much like what he did on Louis’ play, Louis’ cheering is the loudest and the most excited and Harry can’t help but smile as he gathers his diploma and goes back to his seat.

Everything goes in a blur and, before he realizes, they are doing that cliché thing where they throw their caps to the sky and finish what they started four years ago. And then it’s over. The four – worst and best – years of Harry’s life are over and he’s free. He’s actually free from his parents and from the last bit of control they still have over him. He’s free and he and Louis are actually going to the same uni, even if they’re going for different majors. And they’re going to share a flat and get jobs to pay the rent, they are going to live there until they finish then move to London and start a whole new life where all that matters is the two of them.

And it’s not like he’s suddenly become the coolest kid in the school – in fact, even there during their graduation, some of the students still look funny at him, some of them probably wondering how the hell he managed to graduate after all. He just had a good teacher through the years, someone who was patient and didn’t mind explaining twice even if Harry had purposely avoided the class because he couldn’t stand the subject.

“You look great in yellow.” A voice says behind him and he turns around to find Louis smiling at him. “In fact, I think we’re going to keep this one.” He leans in so only Harry can hear the last part. “But next time you wear it, make sure you’re not wearing anything underneath it.”

Harry laughs, pulls Louis into a hug and bury his nose on Louis’ hair. It smells good, really good, but Harry’s always loved Louis’ shampoo anyways. The smaller boy sighs contently, his arms wrapped around Harry’s waist. He looks up, catches Harry’s eyes with his own and smiles.

“Now it’s you and me, no dicking parents, no insane sisters, just you and me.” And Harry’s glad because he’s not even pretending to be happy and that life’s actually easy – he genuinely feels it.

“Lou, you love your sisters.” He utters, bites on his thumbnail.

“That I do, but they’ve had me for eighteen years.” Louis stands on his tiptoes so he’s closer to Harry’s level – and it never ceases to amuse him how annoyed he can get at it. “Now I’m all yours.”

Harry breaks the distance and kisses Louis, his hand moving to the back of his head to keep him there until Louis’ smell is stuck inside his nose and Louis is the only thing he can taste inside his mouth.

“I won’t deny you that.”

-

Louis pulls out in the front of Harry’s house and all the lights are off – his parents are probably sleeping, probably didn’t bother to check out if Harry was there because Harry’s never done this before and they don’t believe he would actually do it because they know he’s a good boy. At least until now.

Harry thanks him and opens the door. He’s stepping out when Louis stops him with a hand on his arm. The boy kisses him; just a peck on the lips but it’s enough to send shivers down Harry’s spine.

“Talk to you tomorrow, yeah?” And Louis’ smile is so perfect Harry can’t help but nod.

“Yeah.”


End file.
